


Hic Sunt Impudicus Fabulae

by Lewdsmokesoldier



Category: Original Work
Genre: (sort of), Anal Sex, Anthology, Arabian Nights Fusion, Frame Narrative, Furry, Futanari, Medieval History and Literature, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26893339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lewdsmokesoldier/pseuds/Lewdsmokesoldier
Summary: Herein be contained a retelling of tales which embody some measure of the range that narratives on the topic of medieval romance can entail, under the veil and regulation of particular limitations of the splendid members. Under the crux of a lonely noblewoman, bereft of comfort, being regaled with narratives of love and ribaldry, many stories can be seen. Dragons conquer, knights clash, witches work their magic, and demons scheme in the shadows. All these and more, with particularly devoted attention given to lewd happenings and outcomes.(Fantasy, anthology, futa/futa)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. An Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Done for a contest. Will post more chapters, and the glossary, soon.

Hark, within this page be told the tales,

That speak not of Providential Grails.

Witness the time of a lovelorn princess,

Hale and hearty, yet under duress.

In comfort seeks story, of flesh undressed.

Though tried, still true, in pages said,

These characters never spurn a marriage bed.

Or grass, or straw, or floor or table,

Partaking ever they were able.

Yet parallels shoudlst be drawn,

Twixt these stories and those of Chrétien.

And Malory, and Chaucer, and the Mabinogion.

To too many indebted, thus, listing will end anon.

These tell of ribaldry,

Combined with all due chivalry.

Thus, rather than paint a portrait of grace,

This story might, to some, debase.

The fine corpus of romance,

By coupling with such lurid stance.

I still beseech thee lend thy ear,

As I give word to narrative here.

I beg that _trouvère_ for forgiveness,

And pray I do his story no less.

Than the honor which it is owed,

In employing the gifts I am bestowed.

Forthwith, this world I clarify,

For it earns some curiosity.

Within, barriers be shed,

And though humans be, as old, bred.

Quickening shalt not be discussed,

In opposition to _e pluribus_.

England and France, and nations more,

Exist, yet there is much in store.

For though familiar, be it known,

These lands be differently grown. 

Dames hold powers of men, and otherwise shunt,

The presence of such simplicity as the cunt.

By skill and wit, and upward favor,

I here now write, without waver.

This tale of princess, and maid, and more,

Of love and such, I promise galore.

I close, and beseech thy patience,

As I move from this cadence.

And employ a style more direct,

To better maintain thine cock erect.

* * *

Princess Margery, of Norfolk and Bishop’s Lynn, had everything a noble young lady could desire. 

A castle, to protect her. Built on sturdy Roman foundations, and buttressed by sturdier pillars of stone, it was imposing from the outside, and comforting within. A banqueting hall, well-stocked kitchens, a chapel, and sentried barracks ensured that no visitors would be left feeling hungry, wanting for spiritual comfort, or unsafe. 

Gardens, to wander in. Beautiful flowers from French lands, pretty shrubs from the colder north, and, when she was lucky, exotic plants from further regions, passing through the seat of Rome from the distant sultanas. They did not flourish well in this more humid air, but she still cared for them.

A forest, for hunting and picnicking, by the side of her fair hawks. Though she still lacked for a gyrfalcon, and rabbit-chasing lacked the excitement of cornering a crafty _renard_ , the thrill of tiring a deer, or the danger of spearing boars, she still cherished the small freedoms of guarded pursuit of prey.

Servants, to wait on her. Young women all, same as herself, same as everyone she had ever known, plainer in clothes, if not face, and possessing natural servility and delicateness for her tastes. She desired beautiful things, and to be surrounded by grace, and her servants were as fine of feature and body as a noblewoman could find.

Yes, Margery wanted for nothing. Even if she understood the toil and labor that ensured the continued comfort of her class, from the fine farms that fed them, or the violence that competing desires and bickering power in such society always resulted in, she did not allow it to dissuade her from finding her peace, for she could not change it.

But something was missing.

Her home was equal parts artful and powerful, her gardens a menagerie of blooms, her forest a wide-sweeping sanctuary for nature and pleasure, her servants pleasing to look upon and more pleasant to provide support. But these did not satisfy her.

No, the unfortunate truth was that Margery had fallen victim to that most common of afflictions, that power that sapped vitality, clouded the mind, and loosened the morals of activity. She was suffering from the doldrums. Her humors were imbalanced such that ennui, and boredom, were the order of this day, and the next, and the next.

“I’m so _bored_.” She would whine, and her servants would look at each other in confusion. Her parents, doting but uncomprehending, could not understand her misplaced sorrow, and material goods did not fill the void in her soul. There was talk of sending for a priestess, for an appeal to Providence, or even, more desperately, of a witch. But in a good Christian queendom, the latter had no place, and so was dismissed. Yet holy consultation gave little insight, and all were bewildered.

All save one. The Princess’s personal maid, always at her beck and call, who lived her life by her mistress’s whim and will. Juliana was her name, of nearby Norwich, and bound to Margery she was. She knew the Princess better than anyone in the castle, or all of the fine realms of England, and harbored both understanding and affection for the woman who served as both her Lady and her charge.

So it was that, one evening, when Margery bemoaned herself, and Juliana served her station, that the maid found within herself the courage to ask.

“Lady Margery,” she began, and then paused. “May I pose thee a question?”

“Of course, dear Juliana.” Margery replied, sighing but earnest. The two were as sisters, or at least friends, and the formalities of servitude had fallen away from their long years together. “You need not call me ‘lady’, either.”

“Apologies, Margery, but old patterns are hard to break.” Juliana chuckled. “My question is...you appear distressed, and lacking in spirit. What, pray tell, is the matter? Prior attempts at such investigations by others have been inconclusive. But can you tell me?”

Margery hesitated, watching the treetops beyond the castle sway in the breeze that came on with night. In her nightshift, she seemed to be wearing very little at all. The white fabric hugged her hips tight, outlining the hourglass of her waist, and clutching across her chest with such force as to allow her nipples to poke through, distinctly outlined beneath the material. The buxom curve of her silhouette was poorly disguised by her present clothing, but modesty was rarely ever the object of nightwear. 

“I am bored, dearest Juliana.” Margery pouted. “More than that, I am...curious, and I know not what to do with my interest, so it manifests in apathy.”

“Interest in what, Margery?” Juliana queried. She had long had time to admire the marvelousness of her Mistress, but something about tonight made the Princess seem more enthralling still. Her hair was as spun gold, bright and shining, and the dips of her cheeks did not mar skin that could have been carved of ivory. A low dip from her smooth, pale neck exposed the first sliver of the dip of cleavage. Everything about the Princess was soft, and smooth, and reflected greatly on the labor that Juliana undertook to help her stay that way.

“I have...lacked experience in matters as they pertain to the merging of houses, and the inheritance of land.” When Juliana continued to look blankly at her Princess, Margery paused, then continued. “I speak, of course, of congress. _Matrimonial_ congress.”

“I...oh.” Juliana blushed deeply. “Margery, I had no idea.” 

Truthfully, Juliana had had _some_ idea. She had spent enough time preparing Margery for banquets and balls, washing and dressing and undressing her and fitting her clothes, that she was near-intimately familiar with the Princess’s body. Juliana had run her hands over those smooth thighs in preparation for pulling up a dress, and helped her puff up her chest to better display her good breeding and...qualities for visitors. Juliana had massaged the Princess’s soft, squishy rear after a hard go at horseriding, and rubbed soreness out of her back when archery had taken its toll. And, on more than one occasion, Juliana had been in a position to nudge the Princess’s cock and balls out of the way, to help her squeeze on some undergarments or to better wash at the space between her legs when bathing.

An errant thought intruded into Juliana’s mind, that perhaps Margery was saying this in preparation for a proposition. But that was absurd. It was unbecoming of her to expect such baseness from the Princess, and besides, Juliana was unworthy in both beauty and birth. She was of smaller nobility, less treasured than Margery’s line, and in her eyes, she could not match her Mistress’s beauty. She was brown-haired where Margery was blonde, shorter and less graceful, of somewhat mousy stature and complexion. For certain, she took some comfort in how she shadowed her Princess’s voluptuous bearing, and perhaps surpassed it when the question came to the dip and width of hip and thigh, but not in the chest. 

Although there _was_ the question of their cocks. It had been quite a long time since the two had been naked for a shared, chaste bath. Did Juliana still exceed Margery in girth, length, and heft? She did not know. 

But this line of musing was useless. However much Juliana might contemplate it, Margery was certainly not intending to propose anything...lewd, though the thought made her shiver. The hopes she’d harbored ever since the two had blossomed from girlish awkwardness into maturity still haunted her. Juliana had stroked her dick many a time to the dream of touching her Princess in a less-than-pure manner. She always wound up spilling her seed furiously on her belly, breasts, and crotch when her mind’s eye painted a picture of Margery willingly surrendering to her. But she would not fool herself into thinking that it was possible. 

So it was with no hope of recompense that Juliana answered. “I...I see. How can I help?” 

Margery frowned. “I do not know. Has your education given you any insight into answers that may satisfy me? I wish to know more about... _this_ , but fear the answers of my mothers will be little more than abstruse.”

An epiphany came to Juliana, then. She _had_ received certain impartations of knowledge into such matters, though the consummation had eluded her. An unexpected source, and an unexpected bounty, but it would serve.

“I believe I may, Margery. A corpus of tales, passed down from before, gathered by disparate authors near and far. They speak of knights, and dragons, and magic and fairie.”

“Ah, the romances? I have heard them, yes, and they are charming indeed, but however much they may focus on love, they spurn the details of the joining of souls.” Margery scrunched her nose up.

“No, no, these are...different. These romances and tales delve into the deeper mysteries of romance, yes, but explore its venues of physical communion as well. The temptation, and transgression, and lusts, but also truest affection given material form in the act of making love.” Juliana’s face got redder the more she spoke. This was...wholly untoward, but Margery had asked, and perhaps not delve too deeply into where her maid had heard them.

“Interesting. Would you care to share one with me, Juliana? It may alleviate my boredom, pique my curiosity, and satisfy my yearning for understanding.” Margery sat down and patted the bed covers next to her, inviting her servant and friend to join her.

Juliana gulped, but nodded, and began to relay her first tale.


	2. Purcell and the Red Knight

I share this widow’s child, and how she came,

To acquire such notoriety, or fame.

Enthralled she was by knights of old,

Stories her mother trembled while told.

For fear daughter would take to flight,

And seek to prove battle-might.

Purcell be her name, Wales her source,

Of Perceval inspired, but of different course.

Departing home, seeking Queen Arta’s Court,

Spurning games for bloodier sport.

* * *

The Red Knight had disrespected Arta, and her wife, and stolen something of value. A goblet was of little intrinsic worth, even made of gold, to the mightiest Queen in the land, but the symbol was more pressing. She had tried to shame Arta, and had to be humbled.

A joust was in order, however much one woman offhandedly smacking the other across the head could be called a “joust”. But a swift, if ill-aimed toss of a spear could also be called a counterattack. The Red Knight was lucky that the point had not hit her eye: Purcell’s aim was poor enough that the flat of the haft simply whammed her across the nose. Otherwise, the Red Knight would have not had time to think upon her demise: the blade would have pierced her brain, and that would be that.

Still, the stunning blow had given Purcell the opportunity to tackle the larger, stronger knight to the ground. It was a miracle that she fell at all, for her form-obscuring scarlet armor was terribly weighty, but on the ground, the suit proved her undoing. She could neither rise nor roll over.

The Red Knight accepted Purcell’s offer of clemency, and all the associated surrendered spoils. The blow had helped the helm fall open, and beneath was a woman of sharp features, angled and harsh, with the red hair to match her title. Yet Purcell did not know how to unclasp or remove armor, that first task of despoiling a downed knight, and if she hoped to become one herself she would have to know these customs. 

Yoneta, that worldly steward of Arta’s court, had saved her. She was little older than Purcell, but her time had earned her more experience. “Allow me, Purcell. You have earned a reprieve, so long as you look carefully, and learn.”

And thus it was that Purcell watched, and saw the contours of plate, and the linkings of mail, that had been glossed over in her mother’s tales. Piece by piece was removed, slowly, and set to the side, and with each, new forms revealed themselves of the Red Knight.

Burly and strong, her defeat more a fluke than anything else, a product of ill-luck on Purcell’s part that her blow had not been fatal when she had expected a fight to the death, and fortune on that of the Red Knight, for precisely the same reason. The mail was undone, and beneath was a tunic, matted with sweat and exposed on the arms and thighs, clinging to her form from the burden of the armor above, now removed.

“There now, isn’t that better?” Yoneta said in a low voice. An unexpectedly _personal_ tone, and one that left Purcell perplexed. Or enticed? She was not sure. She had had no cause to feel such before, but something about the sight of that sweaty, tightly-clad, defeated knight was...engrossing, to say the least. The Red Knight’s scowl was softening as Yoneta’s hand pulled at her tunic, running along the cords of muscle on her limbs, rubbing the sweat away and in with the delicate hands of a castle steward.

“Now, Purcell, there is _another_ spoil to claim. This is your first victory, yes? It should fall to me to tell you, then, that is customary for the defeated to surrender something _else_ upon their toppling. Surely this comes as no surprise to you, vanquished knight?” The question was directed at the woman lying on her back, still panting heavily, who flashed a look of consternation at the steward, but did not offer anything to the contrary.

“Certainly, you have some interest, have you not? Come, let us see you out of that tunic, to properly enjoy the fruits of your victory.” Yoneta grinned naughtily, inclining her head towards Purcell. The younger would-be knight paused, looking from the smiling, encouraging steward to the frowning Red Knight. Indecision was frustrating. The warmth in her stomach, and the stirrings in her crotch, gave credence to the proposal that she was, in fact, interested, but having never known another’s touch, or even her own, the anxiety of stepping forward was paralyzing. 

The Red Knight nodded, begrudgingly, as Yoneta cooed reassuringly. “Oh, sweet Purcell! You have a fine career ahead of you, but you must seize your prizes as they come to you, else they shall slip from your grasp. But here, I will encourage you, for it would not do for me to allow such a promising knight to fall into a habit of spurning offered gifts...even if they are only proffered in defeat.”

So saying, Yoneta reached a hand forward and pulled on the cord of rope holding up Purcell’s trousers. The bottoms loosened, held up by what swelled beneath, and the steward’s hands rubbed the spot delicately, lightly dragging her fingers along that tightening strain against Purcell’s pants. 

“That feels good, does it not?” Yoneta purred, moving a bit faster. “I can understand your excitement. Your foe, vanquished, sweaty and exhausted, and ripe for your plucking. How could anyone, even an unbedded virgin, not be afire at the sight? Especially,” Yoneta’s voice dropped as she shot a glance at the Red Knight, “once she began to strip of her own accord, baring herself for you.”

The Red Knight took the hint. Her fingers slowly made their way to her belt, then the bottoms of her tunic. Rather than pull, she seemed to more _peel_ the garment from her person, the sweat-stained material clinging to her skin, reluctant to be parted, but the grip of the wet wool was no match for the strength in her hands. So she stripped, and the shirt went up, catching on the underside of her tits, and then dragging against her nipples before it could go up with a _pop_ and a gasp of relief from the Red Knight. As she pulled it up and off and over her head, tossing it aside, Purcell was able to behold the Red Knight’s corded belly, bulky with sinew, and the swaying of her breasts. Her clavicle held the paled echo of a scar, as did her side, but more than anything, her nakedness told a story of strength, sweat, and muscle.

It was marvelous to behold. Purcell grunted as Yoneta slipped her hand beneath the up-and-coming knight’s trousers, securing her fingers around that swollen shaft, gripping firmly but carefully.

“There, now, is that not better? My, my, you are excited, it would seem.” She punctuated her words by squeezing Purcell’s dick, earning a squeal from the other woman. “Perhaps you shall find even more cause to be so enervated when our friend reveals her own person. Would you like that?”

“V-very much, yes.” Purcell stammered out as Yoneta kept stroking, pressing her covered chest to Purcell’s shoulder. The Red Knight, beaten, could only obey as she pulled down her leggings, and her cock flopped out into the open. Most tellingly, it was already half-erect and stiffening fast, thick and weighty and carrying the same bearing of strength that the rest of her body held. Her balls were fat and heavy, bobbing as she grew harder, and the same scarlet hair that adorned her head crested the skin above her crotch.

The steward tugged down with her other hand, and forced Purcell’s own dick into view. It could not match the Red Knight’s for size, whether by girth or length, even already at full mast. But it trembled at the sight of the naked woman before her, and under Yoneta’s touch.

“Now, given what she will give up, I presume that your vanquished friend will find it preferable to attend to you now, rather than _without_ such encouragement.” The Red Knight took the hint, and shuffled forward awkwardly on her knees, cock and balls dragging against the grass. But she could not get far, and it was not without crawling that she could find her place in front of Purcell’s trembling dick. But once her lips were there, breathing heavily onto the younger woman’s dick, Yoneta knew she would obey, and so she backed away, releasing her hand from Purcell.

She did not need to speak. The Red Knight had never suffered defeat, but she knew the price demanded. Even on her hands and knees, she could still reach Purcell’s shaft with her mouth, so the Red Knight dipped forward and with a deep breath, dragged her tongue up from the folds of skin between Purcell’s balls. She tasted sweat and salt as she pulled it up to the tip, then released it with a gasp. It pained her to service such a...clearly weaker woman, for Purcell was a shadow of the Red Knight’s visible power, but this was the wager that all of them swore by.

“Good girl.” Yoneta patted her on the head condescendingly, then looked back to Purcell. “How is she doing?”

“I…” Purcell had no frame of reference. The Red Knight’s tongue was warm, and pillowy, but strong, and it pressed firm against the girth of her shaft and the weight of her nuts. 

“I understand. Your first time will leave you quite speechless. I leave her to her devices...and take to mine.” Yoneta gave the Red Knight another stroke across the forehead before moving back, stepping behind Purcell and loosening her own tunic. Purcell was too focused on her cock being licked, smooched, and slobbered on to pay attention, and when Yoneta began to pull Purcell’s top off, she raised her hands to let it happen without thinking as her own breasts bounced free.

The Red Knight had not caught on to Yoneta’s scheme, but her focus was on pleasing Purcell, so she forsook the use of her tongue and moved to encircle her lips around Purcell’s cock. One hand stayed on the ground, to hold her up, but the other reached and grasped the nutsack of the woman she was servicing, caressing, squeezing, and kneading those orbs as she went from exploratory licks to truly sucking on Purcell’s dick.

Purcell whined, and moaned, hands clenching into fists as her shaft was surrounded by the warm softness of the Red Knight’s mouth, her tongue pressed against the underside of her shaft while her teeth gently dragged along the length of it as she swallowed more and more. Purcell did not notice Yoneta stripping behind her, the steward casting aside fabric, and wool, and straps, then rising, naked and chuckling. The dimensions of her form were wanting in comparison to the other two’s muscular athleticism. She was built for the court, black of hair and dainty in features, but that did not dissuade her aim...and her cock still stood up, tall and proud, unashamed for its slimness in light of the girth of the other women’s dicks.

But she did not, as the Red Knight must have expected, grab Purcell’s hips and line her shaft up for penetration. Instead she fell to her knees, her face behind Purcell’s backside, and swiftly moved up to grab the younger woman’s rear.

“Wh-what?!” Purcell gasped, but did not resist.

“Hush, child. You have won a great victory, and so earn an especially great prize from an awed onlooker.” Yoneta chimed, then stifled further speech by spreading Purcell’s asscheeks wide, digging her fingers into that firm flesh...and then leaning forward, dragging her tongue along the crook of Purcell’s asshole, circling it around the bud, and then entering it as it tensed and throbbed in response to her ministrations.

Purcell was being worked at both ends. Yoneta was tonguing, tasting, licking and slurping her asshole, greedily grabbing at her backside to spread and access it, her tits brushing against the inside of Purcell’s knees as she knelt and slobbered. The Red Knight was lovingly, carefully swallowing down her dick, pawing and cradling her nuts with one hand, humming and pressing in on her shaft with her lips and teeth. When she managed to focus her eyes anywhere and not just look to and fro in her shock, she could admire the path of sweat as it ran down the Red Knight’s back, glistening and bright, and the wide, strong outline of the red-haired woman’s rear. 

One hand reached down to grab the Red Knight by the hair, pulling her harder onto her dick, forcing gagging and glugging sounds from the woman whose face was being stuffed with cock, and Purcell’s other hand reached back to grab Yoneta’s raven locks and force her deeper, to more vociferously eat her asshole. Purcell’s hips ground to and fro, trying to shove more dick into the Red Knight, and drag Yoneta’s mouth more diligently towards her rear entrance than she already was.

An experienced woman could hardly have sustained herself in the face of such an assault. It did not surprise either of them when Purcell whined as the pressure overtook her, the heat and tension too much to bear. Her limbs were shaking, and a budding pressure built up in her groin that she did not resist, though she had never felt it.

She came, asshole twitching on Yoneta’s tongue, balls pulsing against the Red Knight’s chin and dick tensing in her throat as all were held as deep as they could go. Purcell’s tits shuddered with her shaking, cum pouring down into the Red Knight’s mouth and right down to her stomach, a salty, creamy treat that kept coming, more and more, until she was certain she could swallow no more. And then, still more came, as Purcell released the buildup of going her entire life without an orgasm. Nearly two decades worth of spunk erupted forth, brought on by getting her ass eaten, dick sucked, and balls stroked so expertly, to say nothing of the thrill of victory. The Red Knight’s eyes were rolling towards the back of her head, jets of cum spewing from her nostrils as her throat refused to swallow more.

But she had to relent, and she gulped and guzzled as Yoneta kept licking Purcell’s backside, urging forth new reservoirs of cum, until she finally ran out, and her balls had no more bounty to give as of yet. The Red Knight pulled away when Purcell’s grip loosened, gasping and sputtering, but there was no more cum left to cough up.

Yoneta stepped back, smiling, and stood to help Purcell stay on her feet. “How are you feeling, Purcell?”

“I…” She groaned, trying to steady herself. “It was...I want more, I want _so_ much more…”

“And you shall have it. I am certain that she knows what to do.” 

And the Red Knight did. Teary-eyed as she was, head dizzy, she stayed on all fours, well aware of what would come next, as Yoneta led a shaky-legged Purcell over to her backside. Purcell had not seemed exhausted, not in the least, and the ebbing of her eruption had not been from over-pumping her nuts...but some inner self-control that she did not know she had. There would be more.

“Now,“ Yoneta said, grabbing the Red Knight’s rear with both hands while licking the taste of Purcell’s from her own lips, “She has one more thing to give. You want it, do you not?”

Purcell’s gaze shifted from her shimmering, spitshined and slick cockhead to the Red Knight’s buttocks, watching as Yoneta dug her hands in and then spread it, revealing the same sort of puckered hole that had been so recently worked over by the woman now offering another to her.

Realization dawned, and she could not stop herself from grinning. “Truly? More than anything. And it is mine?”

“Of course. You have won it, by all chivalric principles.” Yoneta’s eyes beamed with glee and anticipation, and she let Purcell’s hands replace hers on the Red Knight’s rear, grabbing, pulling, and groping as she lined up the tip of her dick with that tight, tense hole. It called to her, every little twitch a beckon, every little pucker an invitation to be thrust into.

Perhaps she should have taken more care, to give the Red Knight an easier passage, but her cock had already been worked up quite well. So she nudged it forward, spreading the entrance with her thumbs, pressing her palms into the globes of the Red Knight’s buttocks. The defeated woman tensed, but did not fight, and with a whine from the two of them, Purcell’s cock sank into her asshole.

If her mouth had been warm and soft and welcoming, the Red Knight’s asshole was even hotter, but in lieu of softness, it was tense and tight, resisting Purcell’s intrusion instantly as it tried to clamp down on her invading dick. The hold made it harder to push forward, but push forward she did, and she relished the resistance that was unwittingly put upon her.

The more Purcell sank her dick forward, the more she felt the other woman’s hole clench and clutch at her length, all the tighter for the speed of her intrusion. She tried to go slow, to savor it and to avoid overstressing the knight whose ass she was preparing to plow into, but she couldn’t resist going in as quickly as the fit would let her. It wasn’t very fast, but it still strained the Red Knight as her snug back entrance gradually gave way and accepted more of Purcell’s cock into its warm, taut depths.

The Red Knight raked at the grass, biting her lip and hissing, but she had no recourse but to keep taking more of that cock. It could not match her own girthy prick, but that was of little comfort when it was being shoved up her asshole, and her shaft was forced to uselessly shudder above the grass, hard but unworked by hand or hole. So it was some surprise when she heard a chuckle in front of her, and looked up to see Yoneta, dick in hand, holding it a hair’s breadth above the redhead’s face.

“Must I explain myself?” She asked, then slapped her shaft across the Red Knight’s nostrils, her smooth balls dragging across the other woman’s mouth as she grit her teeth from anal penetration. “Suck my cock, like a good knight.”

And she was obeyed, though judging by how long Yoneta spent drumming her dick across the Red Knight’s face, slapping her cheeks, brow, chin, nose, eyes and lips with her rod, sliding her nuts wherever she could as she went, the steward was quite content to simply revel in the Red Knight’s debasement as she uncomplainingly was made to feel a weaker woman’s cock smear her everywhere. But when the time came for Yoneta to line herself up to the Red Knight’s mouth, she opened and took the shaft between her lips with gusto, sucking and slurping all along the length of it. 

Her attention was divided by Purcell finally striking home. With a sigh of delight, Purcell’s dick sank in as far as it could, and she bottomed out in the Red Knight’s ass. Her balls rested snugly against the other woman’s, feeling the heat and girth of the redhead’s fatter nuts, and her cockhead nudged something... _present_ within that backside. Spongey, or firm...but when she pressed her dick against it, the Red Knight’s rear tightened wonderfully, and the redhead whined around Yoneta’s cock in her mouth.

“Oh, yes, well done, Purcell.” Yoneta cooed, resting her hands in the Red Knight’s hair. “I think I know what just happened. Do that again.”

Purcell went at it with gusto, withdrawing her dick partway, half out of reluctance to leave that comfortingly tight hole, and half because that greedy grip simply would not permit her to leave any more. It held her fast, but her hips and the grip she had on the Red Knight’s backside gave her enough leverage to thrust forward, her balls clapping against those of the Red Knight, her dick shoving within and knocking against that spot once again, leaving her cock shuddering from the undulation around it, and the Red Knight humming around Yoneta’s dick. 

“When she tightens her lips, it feels _oh-so-wonderful._ Ooh, I really should have let you be here for this...but I imagine it is fun enough back there, no?” Yoneta called out as she grabbed those scarlet locks in both hands and began to hew her crotch back and forth, fucking the Red Knight’s face, tits heaving as she went and her balls smacking that slobber-covered chin. Fresh tears erupted from the woman’s eyes, and a mixture of snot and spunk dribbled down from her nostrils as her mouth was employed as a cockwarmer for a second time, so suddenly after the first, and she could only watch 

Purcell did not reply. She was too busy sawing her hips back and forth, roughly, harshly pounding the Red Knight’s ass for all she was worth, boring into that hole over and over. Every shove slammed into that sensitive spot. The Red Knight was tugged between focusing on attending to Yoneta with her writhing tongue and suckling lips, managing that slim, short dick with her mouth, and dealing with the twin sensations of discomfort at having to accommodate such an insistent, urgent pattern of thrusting by a fat dick, and joy at being so aggressively stimulated.

The muscles of her back were slick with sweat, her whole body corded with muscle, and she was helplessly strung between two dicks. Over and over she was smashed into from behind, and more and more she swallowed, hummed, licked and slurped in the front. Being unable to hold fast was forgivable, but still humiliating, which made the release all the sweeter. The Red Knight’s asshole clenched down in a series of powerful, rocking clenches and holds, tightening so strongly that Purcell could barely fuck her, and her tongue thrashed as her lips quivered around Yoneta’s dick.

She pulled grass out of the ground while her bobbing, swaying cock erupted, spewing her cream forward so strongly that it dusted her abs and splattered her hanging tits before firing off into the grass. It fired more spunk, without any stimulation, cumming only from being assfucked and facefucked, and in doing so, her entire form worked over the dicks inside it harder and harder.

Purcell had thought that cumming into the Red Knight’s mouth was wonderful, but this was something else entirely. Her cum felt like it was getting forced clean out of her balls as they emptied themselves into the other woman’s spasming, greedily pulling backside, calling for more cum to paint it even whiter and hotter than it already was being plastered. Her hips were a blur, and with every thrust she shoved more cum deeper into the Red Knight’s rectum, nuts working at a frenzied pace to pump more cream out into that butt.

Yoneta squirmed and sighed, coming to a quieter, more relaxed orgasm that entirely did not fit the voracious, vicious pace with which she was grinding her crotch into the Red Knight’s face, but she had had enough experience helping fresh young knights earn their first victories that this had lost a degree of its novelty. It was wonderful, and thrilling, to break in a defeated opponent...but she was not as prone to losing her mind as Purcell appeared to be. In any event, at least, she still came powerfully, and flooded the Red Knight’s mouth and throat with a second helping of fluid before pulling out, plugging the other woman’s mouth with her nuts, and firing the rest off across her nose, eyes, and forehead.

All three relaxed and unraveled, bodies sore and sweaty and tired, but a smile lingered on all their lips. Purcell was still stuck fast within the Red Knight’s asshole, but she grinned at the possibility of future victories. Yoneta smiled at how high her hopes were for this new knight. And the Red knight grudgingly joined them as she acknowledged just how good it felt to finally be beaten.

“Now, Purcell, perhaps she is ready for two cocks in her asshole. Unless you wish to be ploughed yourself?” Yoneta leaned back and stole a glance at the Red Knight’s monstrous, still-hard shaft. “She is...quite formidable, but you will need to learn to take ones like hers eventually…”

It was difficult to tell who was more excited, for the trio all beamed, eager for more.

* * *

Margery had not said anything for quite some time. Her silence had been profound enough that Juliana trailed off, uncertain whether to continue her narrative. She had been about to go into how Purcell had engaged in a long and hard debate with herself about whether to take the Red Knight full-bore, or whether to share her with Yoneta, or find a third course, but…

“My lady.” Juliana said in a concerned voice. “Margery, are you...is everything well?”

“I...oh.” Margery said, quietly. 

“Are you hurt? Do you feel ill?”

“N-no, far from that, Juliana. But thank you.” Margery spoke haltingly, voice quivering. “I simply...oh, I…”

She trailed off, and moved her hands from her lap. Juliana beheld a sprouting, covered bulge, sticking up bravely from beneath Margery’s nightshift. The fabric barely concealed the outline of it, and Juliana could almost see the shape of-

Oh.

“M-my lady! My apologies, I should have desisted, I…” Juliana trailed off, trying not to look at how Margery’s erection throbbed through her clothing. Her own length had stiffened somewhat beneath the confines of her garments, but she should have foreseen that someone as inexperienced as Margery would have a more visceral reaction.

“It is...it is all right, Juliana.” Margery stammered, face flushed. “Simply...unexpected, but not...not unwelcome. Would you read me some more?”

“Really?” Juliana could scarcely believe her ears. After all that, she wanted...more?

“Yes, I am certain.” Margery rubbed her thighs together, and Juliana could almost imagine the Princess’s smooth, pale legs jostling her balls between them, caressing and-

No, she had to stop, lest she be as distracted as the Princess. “Very well, but I might recommend a different tale, for that one is...well, I believe I have one that goes in some other directions, and satisfies some different curiosities.”

“Truly?”

“Yes. A tale of our very own England, in fact, for while all of these are set here, this one is intrinsic to our identity. Are you familiar with dragons, Margery?”

Margery bit her lip and nodded uncertainly. “Do you mean dragonslaying?”

Juliana smiled. “Of a sort.”


	3. Saint Georgina and the Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains scalie/furry, if that's not your thing.

I sing of arms and the woman,

Who rode to and roamed to far-off land.

Glorying her name and that of God,

Till all knew her deeds and thus were awed.

Here, confronting a wyrm most vile,

A dragon, a beast serpentile.

This lizard, in its clutch, a maiden captive,

A woman, who might have ceased to live.

If brave Dame Georgina does not make haste,

And save this life from wicked waste.

But Heaven works ways mysterious,

And this adventure coursed where none might guess.

Here now I tell this tale most improper,

Of how dragon dicks can give much succor.

* * *

The village of Silene had been hushed, terrified, whispering of the calamity of the great shadow that lurked by the lake. 

A dragon. None had seen it, but the signs were clear: the scorching of trees, the butchering of herds, the charring of grasslands and forests. It hid in its lair, and snuck out only to feed. A party might have assembled to chastise and harry it, but none dared face such a wyrm.

Until, one day, it had seized the daughter of a local Queen, and the grief had brought Dame Georgina to this distant town on the far Libyan edge of the sea.

Perhaps she had expected to find a great beast, atop a pile of gold, slobbering on the bones of the captured princess. A hideous creature, known to Satan and all the filth of the deep soil.

That was not what Georgina had uncovered. A lair it was, but no great, terrible monster awaited her. The maiden’s cries had been silenced, but not by death. Georgina had charged in, bellowing, expecting a challenge, and found the dragon occupied by something else entirely.

The dragon was covered all over in scales of green like rusted copper, overlapping and shining, but smooth to look upon. From the base of her spine, a long, thick, snakelike tail lazily swung from side to side, pointed at the tip. Along her back, a row of spines extended towards the bottom of her neck, and emerging from her shoulders were two wings of emerald hue, batlike and folded shut. 

She had been on all fours, hissing and sighing, stomping her clawed feet and dragging her hooked fingers along the ground. It was not until after she heard Georgina approach, and she stood up, that the knight had recognized what was happening. For the maiden whose abduction had prompted her arrival was, rather than being messily devoured, instead being messily fucked. 

The princess’s bronzed skin had still been shimmering with sweat as she panted, woefully erect cock bobbing against the floor, nuts tense and visibly throbbing. A string of fluid had stretched from her stretched asshole towards the wyrm’s body, the hole still pulled wide from whatever had been forced in there.

That lizard had turned, and displayed the tool responsible. From a slit in the dragon’s silver-colored underbelly, on her crotch, two slick, pink dicks jutted out, smooth and tapered at the tip, with two equally pink orbs hanging beneath, slipping from the opening in her scales. The cocks had been wet, slimy, and still connected to the maiden’s asshole via a strand of cum, or sweat, or spit, or whatever fluid had been produced from their congress, and the balls dangled ponderously from recently halted motion.

Georgina had been in the perfect place to strike. But why would she? She had not felt any danger. The wyvern’s lipless mouth, studded with protruding teeth, smoke-flaring nostrils and thin golden eyes had not communicated any particular urgency to attack. She did not have proper human features, as Georgina and the maiden did, and instead bore a lizard-like face with a snout, sans hair or skin, merely scales and all the trappings of serpentine or crocodilian features, looking for all the world like a highly intelligent and perceptive reptile. A true dragon's head. But there had been a fierce, unapologetic beauty to her, captured in suppleness and strength.

Georgina had steeled herself for combat. Her hand had gripped her sword, her gaze had narrowed, and she had stood ready to strike. This wyrm, according to the villagers, was a terrible monster, and she had been availing herself of the maiden in a manner that merited not merely scorn, but retribution. It had been her place to put it to rest, and uphold knighthood’s highest calling in slaying a dragon.

Then, the Princess had staggered up, smiling and dripping from her cock and her ass, and shaken her head at Georgina. “Ooh, what a  _ mighty  _ knight you are, with your fine sword and your righteous bearing! I suppose you are here to rescue me?”

“Yes.” Georgina had replied. “Step aside, maiden, lest you be injured in the struggle.”

“Oh, what a struggle this shall be! I shall have you know that this dragon’s armour is like tenfold shields, her teeth are swords, her claws spears, the shock of her tail a thunderbolt, her wings a hurricane, and her breath death! I tremble as I hazard to believe that you may not be victorious, dame knight!” The maiden had made a big show of cowering and swooning, before suddenly straightening herself and chortling.

“Maiden, this is no trifling affair. You are in danger, and I beseech you to take flight.” Georgina had warned again, some confusion coloring her words.

“Knight, have you not realized it yet? I am here of mine own volition. I was not spirited away, and I do not wish to return. Can you not see this?” The princess had stepped towards the lizard-lady, who had reached her arm around the smaller woman protectively, sheltering her with an outstretched wing and a clawed hand on her ass. The maiden had moaned and turned towards the wyvern affectionately, biting her lip when the dragon had pressed her claws in deeper.

“I am Georgina, of Cappadocia, and I...find that difficult to believe, fair lady. Are you under no geas, no spell of this wyrm’s?” Georgina had queried, not relaxing her guard. The dragon’s nostrils had flared and her eyes had narrowed menacingly, the claw not gripping the maiden’s backside clenching to display the talons. 

“Does the joy with which I take her cocks not make it clear? They are marvelous dicks, Dame Georgina. Perhaps sampling them would convince you?” The maiden had wiggled her hips at that, and the drake had tilted her head in confusion.

“I am not interested, fair maiden.” Georgina had replied, even as her eyes had wandered towards the serpentine woman’s crotch and those twin, pink dragon dicks. Alongside the princess’s smaller shaft and slimmer balls, those two length had seemed positively, alluringly gigantic, and she had hesitated.

“To lie is to sin, dame knight. Your interests are elsewhere. I see how your gaze lingers.” The Princess had smiled. “I sincerely repeat my request. Certainly, you are curious, no? Consider this a different sort of duel. Not for my freedom, but for your honor as a knight.”

She had played her card, for the maiden had known that no knight could resist such a challenge. And besides...now that Georgina looked over the lizard more, she had wondered. What would be the point in slaying such beauty? The serpent had yet to prove much of a bother, anyway, and evidently, the princess welcomed the affection. 

“Very well.”

So instead, Georgina had stripped, and found herself where she was now: naked, on her back, chest heaving and dick swinging of its own accord as the draconic woman bored into her with not one, but  _ both _ of her dicks. It had been an exceedingly snug and almost painful fit, as both slick cocks, titanic shafts that were more than a match for her own considerable dick, tried to slip into Georgina’s asshole as she held it wide with her fingers, but the challenge and the strain had made it all the better once they shoved past and stretched her rear just as well as they’d stretched the maiden’s. It was difficult, and it was wonderful.

The dragon-woman’s chest did not bounce the same as Georgina’s as she fucked the knight. Georgina did not know why such a person had tits, if she were closer to a reptile than a woman, but she did not care, not when their smooth, silver shape was so available for her to reach her hands forward and grope. The scales were firm, resisting her touch, and even the softer underbelly was more than she could work through with her hands.

Her focus was centered on the drake’s deep, powerful thrusts inside her, those twin dicks jostling and sliding within her, grinding against the walls of her asshole as the tip jabbed against her prostate, earning little moans from the knight as her cock dribbled precum. So it came as some surprise to Georgina when the wyvern stopped, then reached down and lifted her so that she was clasped tight in those claws, ass still full of twin dragoncocks. Her tits squished up against the harder, more resistant chest of the drake, and she heard a giggle behind her.

“You are a knight. I am quite confident that you can handle this.” The princess whispered into Georgina’s ear, her breasts pressing into the knight’s back. “Take a deep breath, now.”

She obeyed, as the dragon dug her claws gently into her buttocks, spreading them...and giving her the space to recognize a third intrusion knocking on her backdoor.

“Wait, hold on, I do not-”

“Shhh.” The princess cautioned, as her cockhead pressed insistently into the space offered by the stretch of Georgina’s asshole from the double dragon dicks. It was a terrifying moment, as the tip struggled to find purchase in that already tight-packed hole...but then, with a sigh, she slid in, and the fullness was magnified.

It was painful, without a doubt, and horribly uncomfortable. Georgina felt as if we was being stretched beyond her limits, pulled in twain from the asshole outwards as three dicks rested within her, not even fucking. She could feel their heartbeats through the girth of their cocks, and it was somewhat unnerving to be smothered by two separate pulses and breathing patterns. But the hesitancy was mitigated by the softness on one side, as the tanned maiden embraced her, rubbing her belly from the back and pushing softly into her, and the firmness from the front, as the draconic woman offered an unyielding, powerful wall for the three to rest against in their vertical union.

Then, the princess began to fuck up and into her, and the drake took that as her cue to follow. They did not bore into Georgina with the same ferocity that she had stumbled upon them  _ in flagrante _ , but that was merely to accommodate her limits in being stretched and pulled by three dicks, as they rocked their hips and moved. Their balls swayed to and fro, bumping against each other as their dicks slid alongside inside her, and that earned a purring hiss from the serpent, and little coos and moans of delight from the maiden.

Georgina, on the other hand, was rather losing her mind. One arm was wrapped around the serpent’s middle, the other reaching down to grab the maiden’s thigh as both sawed their dicks deeper inside her, in and out, rubbing her and each other raw. It was impossible to keep her attention centered, her brown hair frazzled and matted with sweat, and she was only distantly aware of the princess leaning over her shoulder to...not exactly  _ kiss _ the dragon, but certainly to peck her on the snout and teeth, and feel an affectionate pattern of licks in return.

There was a...certain alienation there, in being the third wheel, or rather hole, for the two of them to channel their affection as they kissed as best they were able right next to her. Georgina might have felt left out, if not for the fact that they were rather prominently and unmistakably plunging upwards into her butt and back down, rocking her back and forth between them. Her mouth was half-open, drool flecking her lips, and the wyvern broke off from licking the princess to shove her long, writhing tongue into Georgina’s mouth as the maiden kissed the back of her neck. And they never stopped employing her asshole to squeeze their dicks, as she bore down on them while they thrusted with marvelously restrained slowness that did nothing to minimize how  _ good _ it felt to be buttbanged.

The two women could hardly be more different, but there was nothing dissimilar in how they were spearing Georgina’s ass on their dicks. Their nuts clapped and smacked together, while her dick bobbed and swung and slapped against her belly and the dragon’s stomach.

The princess’s soft tits squished against Georgina’s back, her lips pressed hard against the knight’s neck. The dragon’s firmer, stronger breasts forced Georgina’s to give way as she licked at the knight, and both women kept up that agonizingly, wonderfully slow pace of ass-fucking. 

The princess squeezed her tighter, nibbled her earlobe, and then spoke, closer to Georgina but directing her words at the dragon.

“I believe she is ready. Fill her with me, darling?” 

The dragon hissed, a low, threatening sound from the base of her scaly throat. She dug her claws in, almost hard enough to pierce and draw blood, holding Georgina tight. She did not speed up, and neither did the princess, but the intent in their raw, harsh, deep sawing motions was unmistakable, as they slid every which way inside her and jostled her prostate when they bottomed out. When all three cockheads hit it at once, after so much stimulation, Georgina wailed and writhed and let loose.

Stretched on three cocks, belonging to two women, Georgina erupted, splattered her tits and belly with her cream as her balls and dick swung and swayed from being impaled up the rear. It cascaded over her, warm and slick and sticky, a torrent of spunk that just kept coming as she was bored into over and over. The princess leaned back over her shoulder, kissed the dragon again on the snout, and was licked lovingly in return.

The princess’s promise to “fill her” came faster than Georgina expected, as did they. She couldn’t tell who came first, but all three dicks throbbed and twitched inside her and fired their seed up into her asshole. It jetted as far back as it could go, a flood of fluid that left her feeling stuffed, gravid, and uncertain if her back entrance would ever be able to feel anything else again. As more spurts of cum filled her, from a pair of double dragon dicks and a human, Georgina was less and less certain if that was something she might even protest experiencing.

The two other women stayed buried in her for some time, locked in their half-kiss with their dicks snug inside her asshole. What little of their load could escape seeped out from around their shafts as they plugged her butt, leaking onto their cocks and dripping down past their balls. But eventually, they withdrew, with some yelping and straining and an undignified  _ pop _ . 

Carefully, the wyrm set Georgina on the ground, the knight’s legs wobbly and rear sore. But the scaled woman’s twin snake cocks were not withdrawing back into her person. Those pink, slick, cum-soaked lengths were still as stiff as ever. There was an awkward moment as Georgina stared at them, and the dragon stared back at Georgina, and the maiden stood backwards, tilting her head to the side.

Then, something seemed to click in the maiden’s mind, and she giggled and slid over to the wyrm, pulling Georgina along with her. There was a naughty glimmer in her eyes as she whispered to the dragon, loud enough for Georgina to hear.

“Come on, my dear. Do not pretend that you are not interested, at the very least. I see how you stare at her cock, fat as it is. And already all slick for you, too! Surely this is preferable to the  _ other _ sort of stabbing that knights are known to do to dragons…”

The drake’s eyes fixed themselves on Georgina’s thick, erect dick, slippery with the knight’s own load. She hesitated, and Georgina paused, uncertain.

“My lady, what are you…?”

“I want you to fuck my dragon’s ass, brave knight. Are you courageous enough to do that? You took her dicks well...but even  _ I _ can do that.” The princess did not mention that she had also been ploughing Georgina’s rear at the time, which seemed important to the knight.

Something seemed to click in the drake’s mind, for her voice rumbled in her snout. She shook her head, and the maiden took on a begging tone. 

“Please, darling. Are you not curious? I will help you all the way...and reward you well when it is over. And besides, you may enjoy it. Once, you were but young and tender. Now you are old and strong, strong, strong!” The maiden purred, stroking Georgina’s dick with one hand and rubbing it against the lizard’s slippery shafts. The reptilian woman hissed, Georgina groaned, and both shuddered beneath the twin grip of the princess as she pushed their lengths together, sliding and slapping those three cocks with both hands now. 

“Hah. Care for a joust, my sweet? You have a weapon up on your opponent.” The princess cooed, rubbing and grinding those cocks all over each other, watching her partners quiver beneath her touch and the sensation of the other woman’s heat and virility, as their pulses fluttered through their dragging dicks. The knight and the drake were outmatched, marveled at the perversity and runaway depravity of the maiden they had each thought their own. They shared a glance, both confused, and both nervously excited. The wyrm and the knight were little different after all.

The serpent rubbed her thighs together, her hiss ebbing out. She nodded, slowly, and Georgina bowed, the wyrm dipping her head and swaying to fit the movement. A vestige of a copulatory dance, perhaps, as with another dragon? A pity she could not see the whole thing: it might be beautiful. Now she looked almost sheepish, her scaled brow furrowed, her snout expelling smoke a little less furiously. 

Helped by the maiden, the lizard bent over onto her hands and knees, widening her legs...and lifting her tail while turning her head back to Georgina and whining. The wyrm was... _ presenting _ to her, displaying the softer scales surrounding her asshole, and the taut hole therein. It was just below where the tail met the base of her spine, and it pulsed and shuddered with her lifted tail, feeling Georgina’s eyes on it. 

The maiden squatted behind the serpent, tongue extended daintily to lick around the edge of that tense, shivering opening before dipping inside, circling and earning a little yelp from her scaled partner. Her hands spread the wyrm’s cheeks as wide as she could while she gently slobbered along that asshole, only pulling away when it shimmered and clenched.

“Good, good, my sweet. You are nearly ready.” The maiden turned to Georgina and shimmied to the side, tilting her head to urge the knight forward. “Well, knight? ‘Slay’ her.”

It was not the context she had been expecting to hear those words with, but still, Georgina stepped forward, cock in hand, trying to position her shoulder below the dragon-woman’s thick, heavy tail. It extended upwards, forcing her asshole to tense and pucker invitingly, and earning another growl from the impatient wyvern. 

“Patience. You are doing so, so good, darling.” The maiden cooed, moving around and lying on her belly, then shimmying beneath her partner until the back of her shoulders were against the larger woman’s tits. Her asshole nudged the upper of the dragon-woman’s two dicks, the lower sliding against her own ebon-toned cock. “Focus on me, dear. It will make it easier.”

The reptile hissed again, but relented. The princess raised her hips, and then slid backwards, burying herself on the reptile’s higher cock, her face pressed against the ground. The wyrm crooned, her asshole relaxed, and Georgina slid forward to be enwrapped in clenching, scaly warmth.

The wyvern winced, her rear tensing, the princess murmuring encouragement upwards from beneath the drake. “Yes, yes, you are doing well, my sweet. Let that knight into your asshole, nice and easy now. It will feel good very, very soon.”

Georgina had fucked assholes before. Quite a few of them, in fact. Georgina had fed her dick to the backsides of matriarchs of the church; Georgian queens; Arabian sultanas; Mongolian khatuns; Varangian guardswomen; Ethiopian priestesses; French noblewomen; Aragonian merchants; and Irish nuns, to name but a select, small few of her adventures. Her cock had tasted many exotic rears, and found them all worthy of their own honors. But she was quickly coming to the conclusion that a dragon-woman’s asshole surpassed them all in heat, grip, and motion. 

The opening was hot, so hot that she almost feared to penetrate further lest something terrible occur, and yet she kept her course, shoving more and more of her cock into that entrancing warmth. It bore down on her, so strongly that she feared she’d been squeezed half to death, but that tension made the pushback against it yield that much more for her pleasure. It clenched and undulated in ways that no human woman’s rear could match, rubbing and grinding against her cock lovingly.

“There, is that not better? Does it not feel wonderful to have a knight’s cock up your ass, my dear dragon? She is bigger than me, by far, but you still take it like a natural.” The maiden cooed encouragingly, as if she was not presently being speared by one of the serpent’s cocks. But she seemed used to the reptilian rawing by now, even if it still enthralled her.

The drake sighed, her tail coming to rest on the knight’s shoulder, heavy but relaxed. She seemed...not uncomfortable with having Georgina’s not-inconsiderable girth shoved unceremoniously up her back hole, as if her concern had been ill-founded. Perhaps she was stretchier, or simply more pliable? Whatever the case, Georgina pulled partway out and then slammed back in. Georgina was much smaller than the drake, but the force of the movement shoved her partner forward and that much deeper into the princess, dragging the woman on the bottom along the ground and earning a yelp from her as her cock and balls were jostled by the dragon’s second shaft. 

It took some purchase, but they found a rhythm in their stacking, especially once the drake extended her wings to keep her stable atop the maiden. Georgina slammed forward, shoving her dick into as much of the dragon’s ass as she could, and then pulled on the base of her green tail to get a bit deeper, forcing a frustrated yelp from the larger woman. The lizard, in turn, would use the force of being banged up the butt to spear the princess on her dick, her lower cock pushing the princess’s hanging, bobbing, smaller length out of the way. The princess herself was shoved this way and that, forced forward and away by the stiff single dick inside her. It wasn’t as much of a stretch as taking both at once...but the reptilian woman was still  _ very _ well endowed.

The drake did not sweat, and Georgina feared that she’d chafe the princess into sandpaper from the friction of her scales, but the maiden did not protest, except to call for the dragon to go harder, to “use her dick to push into me more, like that!” It was as if Georgina was fucking the princess through the lizard, the shocks of her slams into that reptilian rear shuddering through right to the maiden’s own backside. And the wyvern was being pleasured on both ends of her crotch, with the unattended dick grinding powerfully against the princess’s untouched cock, stroking it hurriedly as their pace picked up.

By some miracle, however, the dragon lacked the endurance to overcome the double assault. Getting one dick squeezed, the other jostled, and her reptilian asshole plugged certainly was a wonder she had never experienced, even if she seemed to be...if not familiar, then at least not displeased with the sensation of being buttbanged. She hissed and leaned her head down to smother the princess with her body, pressing harshly upon her as one cock spewed inside her ass and the other showered her partner’s cock. Her tail tensed, wrapping around Georgina’s shoulders and clutching strongly, wings trembling as she erupted. Her pink nuts trembled, pressing against the princess’s smaller sack as she cried out, muffled by her face in the ground, and rocked back against the serpent while her seed scattered across the surface beneath her. The trembling around Georgina’s dick forced her own orgasm, and as the wyvern’s asshole gripped her tight, she held herself in deeper, balls flush against her scales, and a hair’s breadth from those serpentine orbs, and fired her load deep into that unremittingly clenching back entrance.

As they fell apart, the two humans sweaty and tired, the serpent grumbling with satisfaction, or perhaps enervation, the maiden gasped and wheezed, but found the air to giggle.

“W-well done, both of you.” She coughed and rolled onto her back as the reptilian woman stepped away, standing upright, Georgina’s load leaking from her ass and dripping down her tail. And, just like before...she was still achingly erect. Her eyes narrowed at the both of them, and the princess grinned, a slightly overworked, dazed look on her face.

“Fair knight...perhaps you would be so kind as to help me clean her cocks, and knead her balls, so we may enjoy her again? I...would welcome your assistance.” She fluttered her eyelashes at Georgina.

The knight’s anticipation was matched only by the alacrity with which she fell to her knees and crawled towards that triumphant-looking dragon-woman, gaze locked on those perfect dicks and nuts. Maybe her journey would eventually take her elsewhere, but in the moment, all Georgina could think about was finding more ways to fuck, and be fucked by, this dragon and her “captured” princess.

* * *

Again, Juliana trailed off. Margery had gone...not silent. Not exactly. She was being quite vocal, in fact, as she gasped and moaned, biting her lip to try to hold back further sounds.

This time, the maidservant did not ask after her Lady’s health. She was...quite aware that Margery was all right.  _ More _ than all right. The swelling in her dress’s crotch, the sign of her covered and growing erection, had an unmistakable darkening at the tip that Juliana knew all too much about, but to see it so present was...grounding. 

Margery wasn’t merely enjoying this. It wasn’t just educational. She was borderline getting off on it. Juliana should have stopped, stepped back, let Margery regain her composure. But a tiny, selfish part of Juliana wanted to push Margery as far as she could, to see what would make her Mistress step over the edge.

“My Lady, did you enjoy that one?” She asked, trying to sound innocent, rather than probing. “It is...unorthodox, but I quite like it.”

“It was... _ very _ unusual. And yet...ooooh~” Margery trailed off, pawing at her chest. Her face was a deep red, her nipples clearly visible through her clothing. One hand was rubbing her crotch, as if trying to disguise the staining of precum. Or, perhaps, to encourage more of it. There really was a thin line between her current activities and simply jacking off.

The intimacy was as thrilling to Juliana as it was terrifying. What if she went too far? What if she abused her Mistress’s trust? She was unlearned in such matters, so the weights were hardly equal.

“And yet…?” She prompted.

“Ooooh, the thought of...such power, and such stoicism, and those two big…” Margery bit her lower lip again, huffing through her nostrils. “Please, Juliana, one more, my dear?”

“Are you certain?”

“I would be  _ ever _ so grateful.” Margery pleaded. Perhaps she did not intend to sound like she was making a certain kind of offer, but that was the first thing that came to Juliana’s mind, however inaccurate. She couldn’t possibly refuse.

“Of course, Lady Margery.” 

The only question was...which story to tell next?


	4. Indecision and Resolution

Tales are told, and webs are spun,

Of narratives whose course has long since run.

Borsa here, half-chaste, and Redcrosse tempted next,

Such are choices, that speaker shall be vexed.

Tristanne’s belle Isolde, afallen, and the Fisher Queen,

Sumptuous, and Lancela, such shame never seen.

Brave Gawaina, spared that fatal axe,

For wandering let Green Knight’s cock leave tracks.

See mighty Beawulf, beast-bane, succeed, 

And save Denmark and Geats from evil seed.

Troilas, and Criseyde, lovers keen,

To find peace in war of vented spleen.

All these yarns and further are held in store,

Awaiting sharing, amongst many more.

But indecision! Fatal, and without care,

Makes muddles of minds, so tellers beware.

Pray for a lonely maid’s plea,

Lord, thine Saints and angels blessed be.

Listen! Juliana has happiness earned!

So let not her love, her hopes, be spurned!

If only on earth, some peace to find,

In person of Margery, with want in mind.

Princess shall thus come to know,

All that servant hopes for, and all she can show.

Cock twixt cock, in arse, in hand and mouth,

Or merely against, her desires be not uncouth.

The climax, then, of all such yearning,

And in it, more seed, that both can be earning.

* * *

Juliana had never encountered such a problem before. It was not that she could not think of an appropriate story that would fit Margery’s growing interest and arousal. 

It was that she could think of _too many_. 

Princess Margery had not truly understood what she had been asking for when she had requested that Juliana begin her education thusly, but now the servant was beginning to recognize that she had not comprehend the magnitude of her task, either. She did not begrudge her Lady’s request, not in the least, but, for once, the wealth of knowledge Juliana possessed on such stories left her at an impasse. Not for want of options, but for a deluge of them.

Whether they be tawdry, perverse, romantic, or tragic, they were all consummately _lewd_ , and thus fitting for Margery’s interests. Only...she could not decide what she wanted to share. None sprang to the fore as immediately worthy of a pre-eminent spot in their pattern, so unlike the first two she had shared.

Juliana could have spent the rest of that evening mulling over her repertoire, spoiled for choice, unable to continue for lack of ability to make a decision at all. Her hesitation must have shown on her face, for Margery pouted and squirmed on the bed.

“Dearest Juliana, _please_. Tell me a story.”

Juliana knew she owed her mistress a tale. Privately, she would never forgive herself if she threw away this opportunity. And then an idea arose, and she risked a flicker of hope in her bosom.

“Lady Margery, would you perhaps prefer if I go through a small survey of my canon of tales, and from there, you decide which strikes your fancy the most? They all run the range of tragedy and comedy, episodic and singular, farcical and serious. But they are _all_ of the...particular bent that you are inclined to enjoy.” Juliana shook her head. She had spoken enough of it that her trepidation made no sense. “By which I mean, of course, that they are all...very, _very_ lewd. Or salacious, or ribaldic, or whatever else you would deign to call them. But as it stands...would you prefer if I gently touch upon them, as a list, to see which you might enjoy the most?”

Margery slowly, carefully nodded, trembling slightly as if straining. Her lips were pouted, but she nodded again, as if to confirm her certainty.

Juliana would have felt bad for what she was about to subject her Mistress to, if it wasn’t so exciting. Or if she hadn’t been so openly invited. 

“Very well, Lady Margery. Perhaps you would care to hear a story of...corruption, and depredation? I warn you that it would be a tale of woe and some tragedy, though fortunately, the ones that I have in mind end on happier tones.” The maid waited, and when Margery tilted her head a third time, she continued.

* * *

“I might speak of Dame Borsa, of Queen Arta’s Round Table, who swore herself to chastity, but broke her vow early in her knightly career...through no fault of her own, for a most lovely princess, Claire, ensorcelled Borsa with her magical cockring. It fastened itself around the Knight’s shaft, and thereby charmed her into falling into the arms, and entering the arsehole, of the wily Princess. And thereby, Elyana was born, through means that escape us all.

But my story would concern itself more with the episode wherein Dame Borsa comes across a group of women who claim that, if violent, passionate love is not made to them immediately, they shall die, and threaten the good knight with that self-punishment of suicide, as if to rob God of the time he has allotted to them. Borsa refuses them as best she can, but when one hurls herself from the battlements, she relents, and the rest pay reverence to her cock and ass as one only can when breaking an incorruptible vow, so that all is a tangled mess of shafts, holes, and seed.

Only...these are not women, but foul demons, and as they enjoy and are enjoyed by Borsa, they elicit change from that holy knight, seeking to corrupt her body and purpose, transforming her into one of them. It is only with reawakened divinity that Borsa escapes, to a grander destiny...however despoiled her path of chastity has become.”

...

“Or I might speak of that fair tale of Spenser’s, who, though not ken to the time she emulates, embodies it most tellingly. Particularly that story of the Redcrosse Knight, fair companion to Una, that apotheosis of feminine virtue. Led astray, not by monster, but by Archimaga, that sorceress of hypocrisy. Such words worm their way into the mind, promising majesty and vindication if only principle is sacrificed, and the events thusly are a warning as to the dangers of such temptation.

For Archimaga makes the suggestion that Una, embodiment of the truest Church, has erred, and lent the use of her asshole to someone other than her guardian Knight, who, as bulwark of the faith, should hold sole ownership of that purest hole. The audacity! Of purporting to defend faithfulness of fucking, as Archimaga herself allies with that prostitute of vices, Duessa, to whom no hole is sacred, no cock too important to not be indulged for any price. And as sorceress herself, Archimaga already vendored the purity of her virgin asshole to the foulest spawn of hell for the sake of her spells.

Thus it is that the Redcrosse Knight is deluded, convinced that revenge should supplant justice, and that to return the pretended insult to herself from Una, she must fuck Archimaga herself. But with every thrust, she loses more of her faith, and with every eruption of seed, more of her strength is leached away. Eventually, Archimaga leads the Redcrosse Knight away, wrapped around that sorceress’s shaft, to dwell in the House of Pride. But Una, true devotee that she is, will see through the disguise, and rescue her Knight...even if she must fuck every manner of obstacle and foe that stands in her way. But her sacred asshole will remain for the Redcrosse Knight’s use alone, and thereby will she prove her purity by only fucking, and never being fucked.”

* * *

Juliana paused. Margery’s breath was whistling through her nose, and a trickle of sweat worked its way down from her forehead, but she was not yet brought to a limit. But to be so blatantly, openly lurid was...having an effect, certainly. So she continued.

“Or perhaps you would prefer a tragedy? Such can be arranged.”

* * *

“Have you ever heard the tragedy of Tristanne and her belle Isolde? Of one soul, but two bodies, and a most unfortunate fate theirs is. Tristanne was born in death, of that of her mothers, Blancheflor and Rivalena. Her aunt’s desire for a wife of Ireland led to the meeting of these lovers, brought in bloody battle with Isolde’s own aunt...and then again, with that terrible conquest of the dragon. But forgiveness, and saintly fingers, mended wounds and tended exhaustions. Their fate could have been so much more.

But, alas! For fear that Isolde might not entice Tristanne’s aunt, the Queen of Cornwall, Isolde’s own mother as monarch of Ireland contrived of a plan to compel Cornwall’s ruler to love Isolde through an ensorcelled draught, emotion captured in liquid. Conceived of forgotten alchemy, with the final ingredient as the cum of Isolde’s very own mother, such a scheme might have worked, had Isolde’s maid Brangane not failed to guard the love-potion. But boredom makes for a poor companion, and so Brangane found another in enjoying the comforts of being shared by the ship’s crew. A harmless pastime, except that this allowed for Isolde and Tristanne to mistake the potion for mead, and drink and doom themselves accordingly.

So it went, cyclically, again and again, as these two lovers cavorted, fucking however, wherever, and whenever they could, right underneath the nose of Cornwall’s Queen, Tristanne’s own flesh and blood! The ruler of Cornwall suspected Tristanne of adultery, banished her, only to regret it and call her niece back home. Over and over, until the signs could be ignored no more, and Tristanne found comfort in a lie, the misunderstanding of which led to two deaths and the misery of their companions. Paired trees now grow over their joined graves, intertwined and, at last, able to enjoy and seed each other beyond death.”

* * *

Juliana frowned slightly, watching her mistress’s reactions. Margery was...struggling, breathing heavily and sighing, but the urgency of the moment had waned, and the pressure on the princess was clearly fading. However lurid the story, the sadness clearly dampened the princess’s enjoyment. Perhaps something more...straightforward was merited.

* * *

“I could, perchance, speak to a later episode in that tale of Purcell, wherein she chanced upon a Queen whose realm suffered for lack of leadership. Not for greed, or pride, but mere sloth, and the simple pleasure of fishing. An innocent pursuit, but when it occupies a monarch’s entire attention, it is ruinous. So it was that Purcell came to know the Fisher Queen, and was banqueted at her court.

What procession that followed during that feast, as Purcell exercised her judgement and sat in silence, and beheld it all! A single young woman, first, holding a metal lance that dripped with cum. Her own cock throbbed and dribbled fluid, which was diligently captured in goblets and served to the guests. At the whim of the banqueters, more was milked out of her balls as she walked! And next, a pair, bearing a candelabra tipped with phallic protrusions, upon which they speared themselves up the rear. They bounced and jostled until they rained their cream over their own bodies, and invited the feasters to enjoy this cock-laden contraption! Thirdly, a lovely lass, plumply full-figured, bearing a most peculiar goblet. Or, rather, a grail, which she offered to every guest, for them to jerk themselves off into or be stroked to completion with her own hands. At its peak, she beat her own dick, added her cream to the grail, and gulped down the salty treat before all the guests!

And, fourthly a woman proudly cocked, spreading herself upon a wide, silver platter. Displayed thus, she made the perfect canvas for the feasters to paint, and paint they did, all circled round. Baptized she was, in showers of seed and spewed spunk, until you could neither tell woman from platter. Through it all, the Fisher Queen sat at her throne, lame leg weary and warped, body tightened and wrinkled with age, faithfully attended to by the hands, mouths, and assholes of a cadre of devoted serving-girls, who busied themselves by enjoying their fellow ladies when not at their Queen’s attention. Purcell’s quest was not yet over...but no other adventure would befuddle and arouse her quite like that had.”

“Or perhaps, more fittingly raw would be that tale, anthologized by Chrétien, of Lancela, who shamed knighthood by that most necessary passage by cart, and dubbed therefore _Chevalier de la Charrette_ . A mark of shame, certainly, but for Guinevere, no humiliation was too much. She knew not that riding the cart was an invitation to herself _be_ ridden, and till she and her companion parted ways, all of Lancela’s brawn and power were for naught: she was the object of use for all who encountered her on that shameful _charrette_ , for a knight of a cart is merited no respect.

I might continue, how her humiliation steeled her resolve for the rest of her travels, and how her hesitation in accepting that burden nearly cost Lancela the hand, and asshole, of her lady love Guinevere. I might continue how Lancela not merely bested Meleaganta in a lurid contest of crossed cocks, and rubbing, rutting rods, but so many others.

But it would take too long, I believe, to even summarize Lancela’s victories in the bedchamber, and wherever she might find succor. So let it suffice to say that Lancela traveled far, and fucked many, for love of Guinevere and courtly, good chivalry. All were ploughed, and all ploughed Lancela, but she never forgot a slight, and always made good on her vows and promises. Even when they merited her to bend over and take a lovely lady’s cock balls-deep, to say the absolute least.”

* * *

Julian trailed off. Margery let loose a tiny whimper, the blush coloring her cheeks a deeper, anxious red. She wriggled her rear on the bedcovers, crossing and uncrossing her legs as if she might cover the bulge in her dress, and the darkening droplet therein. She clenched her fists, and rubbed her forearms against the sides of her covered breasts. 

The servant tried not to grin as she went on, even as she clenched her legs to try, vainly, to conceal the tension that bubbled up between them. But she couldn’t stop herself from growing more taut at the sight of the princess’s enjoyment, or her own retelling, and the burgeoning heat matched how hard she was.

* * *

“A particular favorite of mine is that lovely, and enlightening, tale of Dame Gawaina and the Green Knight! A story of growth, and maturity, and chivalry, but also duty, and consequence. And, of course, happenings most delicious indeed. An unwanted intruder, a Knight in Green, makes a contest on New Year’s Day in Camelot: she shall suck off any one woman present, bestowing them the most lovely cock-slurping they have ever enjoyed, but in a year and a day they must return the favor threefold, and the heft and girth of her flopping green dick left none with the courage to stand against her. None, save Gawaina, who faced the challenge, and pumped load after load of her cream into the Green Knight’s gullet, even knowing that when that deadline passed, she would have to pay the challenger back three times over, and so with every orgasm she doomed herself further.

And near enough to that day, Gawaina leaves Camelot, and the embrace of her fair Queen Arta, to seek out that Green Knight’s Green Chapel. A chance meeting with a mighty knight, Bertilak de Hautdesert, and her dear wife, led to a most delightfully devious game. Wherein each day, for the span of three, they would exchange what they caught, and thereby know the other’s activity, and on the fourth Gawaina would be led to the Green Chapel. Bertilak gave to Gawaina a deer, then a boar, then a fox, all hunted by her own hand, but Gawaina merely gave Bertilak the kisses that her host’s wife had gifted her in secret, when that noble knight spurned the temptation of adultery, and rejected the touch of another woman's wife. And, on the third night, when the castle’s mistress gave to Gawaina a secret gift, of a magical choker that might let the knight swallow however many loads she might need, the knight kept it secret, and thereby skirted the rules of her host.

A year and a day past that curious contest, Gawaina found the Green Knight. Three times that titaness pressed her cock to Gawaina’s lips, and on the third, when the head barely brushed her tonsils and the smallest trickle of cum slipped into Gawaina’s throat, she leapt back, the conditions satisfied: thrice the Green Knight had pressed her cock to Gawaina’s mouth, and three attempts was the Green Knight owed, and those three were wasted. But in truth, a sham it had all been, for the Green Knight was Bertilak herself, that huntress, whose own wife had connived in the trick to prove Gawaina’s weakness. Her defeat set, Gawaina conceded not only her failings, but also her asshole, for the "Green Knight", newly known as Knight Bertilak, to plunder...while Bertilak's wife, the Lady Bertilak, also took Gawaina’s mouth. But that magic choker remained unsnapped, however roughly her face was fucked, however many times Lady Bertilak emptied her balls into Gawaina's throat, though her backside was worse for wear upon being used so thoroughly by Knight Bertilak. Thus it was that Camelot was humbled, and Gawaina returned a better, truer knight, an example for all the Round Table. Even with her stomach full of a proper lady’s seed, and her asshole leaking an amazon’s cumload, her example was such that—”

* * *

Margery yelped and yowled, screwing her eyes shut and grinding her teeth together to try to repress her vocalizations. One hand was furiously pawing at her tit, pulling at the nightgown and exposing the milky, soft skin beneath as she pinched her nipple and groped the ample plumpness of her breast. The other dug into the bedsheet, quivering and straining, into and at last her lips gave out as she let loose a low, hoarse wail.

Darkness rapidly spread across her crotch, an unfurling shadow of splashing and squelching as Margery’s legs trembled. She bucked her hips, thrusting them upwards, trying to force _more_ of it out, even as the rest was caught in the folds of her scanty gown.

Juliana gaped. She was not stunned, because not only had Margery signalled such a reaction as long coming, but the maid herself had been expecting and hoping for such a response. What was more shocking was how... _copious_ it was. The princess just kept cumming, kept staining her nightclothes, until her whole crotch was a mess of sticky fabric, her hair frazzled and unkempt. When she finally stopped, she was taking in huge gulps of air, lying flat-back on the bedsheets, wheezing. 

And her cock was still swollen beneath the thin layer of her garments. It seemed to stick out even more now, framed by the dark wetness of creaming her own clothes. Juliana ventured a question.

“Princess, are you all right?” A stupid query, perhaps, but words failed her then. She’d just watched the princess, her Mistress and charge, cum right then and there in her own clothes. For the first time ever, perhaps? She felt...unworthy, to be in the presence, or to even have a role, in the very first such endeavor. Well, almost.

“That was…” Margery groaned as another shudder worked its way through her. She’d pawed her own tit red and sore, and everything that had seemed delicate and frailly beautiful about her before now was reflected back, unkempt. “How have I _never_ done this? _Ever_?”

“You have been very occupied with other matters, Lady Mar-”

“And you knew? All this time, and you knew...so much?” Margery sounded desperate, hungry, yearning. Her eyes were still calm, basking in the contented afterglow of her first eruption. “All these stories?”

“More than stories, Lady Margery.” The words tumbled out of Juliana before she could stop herself, and she was on the verge of curling into a tangled knot of shame at her own forwardness. But she could not stop herself. Margery was right there, and she’d just _cum_ , and she was so close and vulnerable and would say yes to anything and this felt wrong to exploit but she couldn’t help it she was just…

“I...I know a lot, Lady Margery. More than tales. I could talk about Beawulf, or Troilas and Criseyde, or any of the others. And I will be happy to. But...perhaps, maybe, I could do _more_ than tell you? I could...I could _show_ you?” 

Juliana felt her heartbeat still. She was hard, painfully so, beneath her dress, and had more self-control than Margery, but she’d never dreamed that she’d come to this point. This would ruin her, surely. She’d overstepped, gone too far. Telling lurid tales was one thing, but to proposition the princess was…

She opened her mouth to apologize, to beg forgiveness. Instead, Margery smiled. Somewhat naughtily, somewhat hungrily, and entirely with warmth and acceptance.

“I...I would like that, dearest Juliana. I would like that very much.” 

She leaned forward, rising from the bed, reaching for Juliana with soft, delicate hands. If not for the raggedness in her appearance, or the one exposed tit, or the cum-coated crotch, it would have been a perfect, chaste moment of welcoming and acknowledgement. 

And it still was, even with all of this. Even with the feeling of that wet, covered cock against her own untouched bulge, and the swell of Margery’s breasts against hers, and everything else that turned a chaste moment lewd, above all else, to embrace Margery was to finally find peace.

The maid had long cherished an inward hope to feel the princess’s lips on hers, and they were lovelier than she could have imagined. Soft and sweet, delicate and plump, utterly perfect. _She_ was perfect.

Juliana and Margery were too busy kissing to speak, but even if she could, Juliana would have been too focused on celebrating their new understanding to waste time on words. Not unless her Mistress, now lover, sought answers. So instead, her hands went down, to the princess’s covered ass, and grabbed those full cheeks in her grip. She pulled back as she rubbed their covered cocks and balls together, Juliana’s larger and weightier, and maid and princess moaned into each other’s mouths, tongues twisting and drooling, as they took the first step forward into togetherness, tenderness, and tutelage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story!


	5. Glossary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a list of the terms that may cause confusion, or merit explanation, in “Hic Sunt Impudicus Fabulae,” in the order in which they appear.
> 
> As a note, since this story entirely consists of futa characters, traditionally male-gendered titles are given their female equivalent where possible. This may lead to some confusion when speaking of queens, or ladies, and I have done my best to help make the vocabulary clear, but in general, one should assume that, for example, the “queen” refers to both the head of a queendon in this setting as well as, separately, her wife. Apply this principle for the other words that are adjusted in this manner, like “lady” being a title for both a noblewoman and her wife. Normally male characters are also given feminine variations of their names where possible.

**Chapter One:**

Providential Grails: 

A reference to the Holy Grail, a cup, dish, stone, or stone with miraculous powers said to be used by Jesus at the Last Supper and then by Joseph of Arimathea to catch blood from Jesus at the crucifixion. It first appeared in medieval romance sources in Chrétien de Troyes’s “Perceval ou le Conte du Graal” (Percival, or the Story of the Grail), though not by that name or with specifically miraculous attributes. It would later become one of the most well-known elements of the King Arthur mythos.

Chrétien: 

Refers to Chrétien de Troyes, a French poet-performer in the 1100s who wrote and performed a number of medieval romances, including several which are references in this story. These include the above-mentioned “Perceval” and “ _ Lancelot, le Chevalier de la Charrette _ ” (Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart). His works were in Old French.

Malory: 

Refers to Sir Thomas Malory, an English writer who compiled many different King Arthur stories into the word known as “Le Morte d'Arthur” (The Death of Arthur), which in many ways is what forms our modern conception of elements such as Camelot, the Knights of the Round Table, and King Arthur himself. Ironically, for somebody writing about chivalry, Malory himself was likely a criminal, convicted of, among other things, robbery, extortion, and rape (under a different definition, possibly, compared to what we understand of the crime now), and also a prisoner of war during the Wars of the Roses in the mid-late 1400s.

Chaucer:

Refers to Geoffrey Chaucer, one of the most famous English authors and poets of the Middle Ages who died in 1400. He also served; as a courtier to Edward III and his successor Richard II; as an accountant for London port customs; as a lawyer; as a member of Parliament; as a diplomat; and as a construction foreman. He traveled as far as Italy in his role as a member of the king’s court and as an ambassador, but he also visited France, Spain, and Flanders. He is most widely known for “The Canterbury Tales,” but also “Troilus and Criseyde,” and several works that are not chivalric romances.

Mabinogion:

The earliest known stories of the land that one might later call Britain (though this is a contentious assertion), first compiled in Middle Welsh, consisting of disparate prose stories. Generally considered to have been organized in four parts, the “Four Branches of the Mabinogion,” but there is some scholarly dispute as to whether or not they are related enough to be considered a collection. 

Ribaldry: 

Coarse or improperly irreverent speech or behavior, particularly of the sexual variety. Can be used as an adjective as well, to describe a particular type of sexually crude comedic story.

Chivalry: 

An informal social code governing the behavior of knights in Medieval Europe. Alleged to consist of commandments whose adherents aspired to be the best models of humanity, fraternity, generosity, courtesy, and mercy, among other virtues. In reality, chivalry never really reached these heights, and knights mostly served as enforcers and soldiers for noble landlords, but as the Middle Ages waned, a desire to idealize the institution of knighthood arose, and for a time the existence of such a code as tangible dogma was believed to be historical fact. 

_ Trouvère _ : 

A French poet-performer in the European Middle Ages. This line specifically is a roundabout reference to Chrétien de Troyes, whose story “Perceval” is the first that I parody in this collection. The word is related to “troubadour,” and trouvères were influenced by them, but they operated in different parts of Europe.

_ E pluribus _ : 

A shortening of  _ e pluribus unum,  _ Latin for “Out of many, one.” It is a motto of the United States, but in this context, I am referring to the fact that, since these characters all lack vaginas, the means by which they have children is going to be left unexplained.

Margery: 

Princess Margery’s name and home is based on Margery Kempe, who lived from the late 1300s to the middle 1400s in the same location that this fictional Princess Margery does, in Bishop’s Lynn (now King’s Lynn), Norfolk, England. She is widely credited for being the author of the first autobiography in (Middle) English. She was also a mystic who had religious visions and undertook many pilgrimages, but was never canonized, though she is venerated in the Anglican tradition. 

Sultana: 

A sultan's wife, mistress, or most prominent concubine, the sultan being the head of state of a Muslim state. In this story, since there are only futas, the head of state of the major Muslim power in the Levant (in this time period, since the story is roughly set in the mid-late 1300s, this would have been the Mamluks) is called the sultana, while her wife is also called the sultana, as explained above.

Gyrfalcon: 

The largest of the falcon species of birds of prey. In the Middle Ages, to possess one was a sign of significant wealth, and rulers across the Mediterranean, the Middle East, and as far as China would pay significant sums to acquire birds from Atlantic islands, such as Iceland or closer to Ireland. These people employed them for falconry, falcon-based sport hunting, and gyrfalcons were almost exclusively used by the highest ranks of society.

Renard: 

French for “fox”. This comes from a body of medieval allegorical stories on a certain Reynard the Fox, an anthropomorphic fox whose devious tricks and nasty exploits were catalogued in fables that demonstrated the failings and absurdities of the feudal system. Reynard is an anti-hero, and most of his pranks go beyond amusing to deadly and unfortunately cruel or serious, and in our time it can be difficult to empathize with him. The stories were so popular that the name of the fox protagonist eventually became the French word for “fox.” 

Juliana: 

Juliana’s name and home is based on Julian, also spelled Juliana, of Norwich, England. She lived in the mid 1300s to the early 1400s, and was the first woman we know of to write a book in (Middle) English. She was an anchorite, someone who withdraws from the world for religious reasons, and witnessed visions after suffering from terrible illness. Her experiences led her to communicate her theological considerations in writing, and today she is likely to be canonized, though that has yet to pass.

**Chapter Two:**

This chapter is based upon the earlier-mentioned Perceval story, “Perceval, or the Story of the Grail.” It consists of a parody of one of Perceval’s earliest exploits, where he defeats the Red Knight that has dishonored King Arthur through the stealing of a golden goblet, and, with the help of Yonet, the castle’s Steward, strips the body of armor and sets off to accomplish further heroic deeds.

Purcell: 

From Old French “piglet,” often used affectionately. In this case, a feminine version of the name “Perceval/Percival.” The original Perceval hailed from Wales, as does this character. His father and siblings are usually portrayed as having been killed before his birth, or early in his life, and he lives along with his mother, who shelters him. When he encounters some of King Arthur’s knights, he is inspired to become one, over his mother’s objections. Eventually, after accomplishing many tasks, he returns home but finds his mother is dead. In the quest for the Grail that appears in later versions of the story, as told by Malory, Perceval is one of three knights who is pure enough to behold the Holy Grail, the others being Galahad and Bors. He also appears in the similar Welsh tale “Peredur son of Efrawg.”

Red Knight: 

A title that is borne by multiple characters in Arthurian legend. In this case, an unnamed knight who steals a cup from King Arthur and then is killed by Perceval as the young knight’s first victory.

Queen Arta: 

A feminine version of King Arthur. There is no actual evidence for the existence of a King Arthur in history, but it is possible that he was a folk hero, mythological figure, or even deity from pre-Christian Britain. A theory that is less seriously considered nowadays is that he was a Roman-British warlord who fought the Anglo-Saxons, or even the Romans themselves. Whatever the case, King Arthur has, over time, become associated with a wide body of chivalric Medieval romances and works, first attested through Geoffrey of Monmouth’s “History of the Kings of Britain,” a pseudo-historical account. Invariably, King Arthur’s story ends when his Round Table is split, he is mortally wounded, Camelot is destroyed and he is taken to the isle of Avalon to be healed and await the hour of Britain’s greatest need.

Spoils: 

The rewards of victory, taken from the loser. When a knight defeated a knight in chivalric combat, the loser was generally made to surrender his horse, armor, and weapons. During a public joust, this could lead to instances of knights stripping themselves nearly, or actually, naked in front of a crowd.

**Chapter 3:**

This chapter is based off of the story of St. George and the Dragon, where the titular knight finds a town in a kingdom in Libya (at the time a general term for North Africa, though the story was probably originally set in Anatolia, modern eastern Turkey. It is a fairly common sort of dragonslaying story, where the dragon has kidnapped a princess, but in this instance, the dragon is first subdued, captured, and tamed before it is paraded for the townspeople and then killed.

“I sing of arms and the woman”: 

From the opening of Vergil’s “Aeneid”, “ _ Arma virumque canō _ ” (I sing of arms and the man).

Dame Georgina: 

Female version of Ser George, later St. George. Hagiographical (saint’s lives) traditions hold that he was one of the Roman Emperor Diocletian’s Praetorian Guard, an elite group of bodyguards, and that George was martyred for refusing to recant his conversion to Christianity. George has been claimed as the patron saint of places as disparate as England, Ethiopia, Georgia, Catalonia, and Aragon, among other things.

Silene: 

The name of the town or settlement where the original legend takes place.

“Known to Satan”: 

One popular interpretation of the St. George story, and of dragonslaying stories in Christianized Europe in general, is that the dragon serves as a symbol of Satan, and the victory over it demonstrates how to overcome the challenges presented by the Devil.

“...uphold knighthood’s highest calling in slaying a dragon”: 

Taken from Hawkeye Gough’s dialogue in “Dark Souls.”

“...armour is like tenfold shields, her teeth are swords, her claws spears, the shock of her tail a thunderbolt, her wings a hurricane, and her breath death...Once, you were but young and tender. Now you are old and strong, strong, strong!”:

These are taken from Smaug the dragon’s bragging and boasting in chapter 12 of John Ronald Reuel (J.R.R) Tolkien’s “Hobbit.”

_ in flagrante:  _

A shortening of “ _ in flagrante delicto,” _ Latin for “in great offense.” Used for when a criminal is caught in the act of attempting a crime, i.e. “caught red-handed.” Also used for when people who are in the middle of having sex are discovered by someone else.

“Matriarchs of the Church”: 

By the point in history in which the frame narrative is set with Margery and Juliana, there had been a schism between the Church in the Western Mediterranean and the Eastern Mediterranean, into what we would now recognize as the Catholic and Orthodox Church. Before the rise and division of further branches of Orthodox Christianity from this, Orthodox Christianity was often simply seen as “the Greek Church”, whereas the Catholic Church was seen as “the Roman Church.” Ignoring, of course, that the Byzantines who were Orthodox generally saw themselves as Romans, despite not having control of Rome. Orthodox Christianity, to oversimplify, uses a system of upper-ranking Patriarchs distinct from that used by the Papal Church, and this line is a reference to a created feminine version of that role. During the time of St. George, the division between East and West in the Church did not yet exist, but the term “patriarch” might still be used for a high-ranking member of the ecclesiastical hierarchy.

“Mongolian khatuns”: 

A term for the wife of the Mongolian Khan, but also for a female Khanate ruler in her own right.

“Varangian guardswomen”: 

The Varangian Guard were a group of elite bodyguards and secret police who served the Byzantin/Eastern Roman Emperors. They were usually of Scandinavian or other Northern European origin, and could become very powerful and very rich compared to what they might make back home.

“Ethiopian priestesses”: 

A feminine version of a member of the ecclesiastical hierarchy of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, a pre-colonial sub-Saharan Church.

“Aragonian Noblewomen”: 

Not a referring to the “Elder Scrolls” race. Refers instead to noblewomen of Aragon, in modern Spain, but for many years in the Middle Ages a separate kingdom of several on the Iberian peninsula. 

**Chapter 4:**

Chapter four references a great many different tales, so I will not spend as much time on the individual references in them, and instead go over the tales in order more generally as they are mentioned in the introduction.

Borsa: 

Feminine version of Ser Bors, one of the Knights of the Round Table. There are actually two different Ser Bors in the canon, but the more notable one is the younger one, the son of the elder Ser Bors. The younger Bors is chaste and refuses to have sex, but one woman, Claire, a princess and the daughter of King Brandegoris, tricks him into having sex with her through a magical ring, thereby letting him unknowingly father the knight Elyan the White. This particular mentioned story discusses an episode where Ser Bors comes across several women who threaten suicide if he does not have sex with them. He refuses, and they reveal themselves to be demons as they flee. Something similar to this episode happens in Castle Anthrax in “Monty Python and the Holy Grail,” which is a very well-researched film that is mostly accurate to the stories of the time...besides the parody, of course. Bors is one of three knights, the others being Galahad son of Lancelot and the previously-mentioned Perceval, who are pure enough to behold the Holy Grail. Bors is also one of the few knights to survive the destruction of Arthur’s kingdom.

Redcrosse: 

Refers to the Redcrosse Knight, one of the protagonists of the first book of Edmund Spenser’s “The Fairie Queene.” Spenser was actually not a Medieval author, writing in the time of the first Queen Elizabeth (he died in 1599), but his poem was intentionally meant to resemble the works of Chaucer. “The Fairie Queene” itself is split into four sections and each serves an allegorical purpose, with the protagonists embodying particular virtues and facing challenges that are associated with these virtues. The Redcrosse Knight could represent anything from an idealization of chivalry to the power of the bulwark of faith, and he is devoted to protecting the lady Una, a personification of fidelity and true faith. Being a devout Anglican, this of course means that Spenser makes Una a representation of Anglicanism, with her opponents (including the sorcerer of pride and hypocrisy Archimago, and the demon Duessa) as stand-ins for Catholicism. It should be noted that Spenser himself worked in the office of the Lord Deputy of Ireland during some of the worst expropriation of Ireland at the hands of the British, and he was eventually driven from Ireland during a rebellion there, so anti-Catholic sentiment from him is expected. In the first book of “The Fairie Queene,” after accomplishing several feats, the Redcrosse Knight is deceived by Archimago into believing that Una has been unfaithful to him, which lets him be led into a House of Pride and sin, requiring Una’s rescue and purification, and then sent on further adventures.

“Tristanne’s belle Isolde”: 

Here with a feminine name, it refers to “Tristan and Isolde,” a medieval romance story with a wide range of interpretations, translations, and versions. Some of the most notable versions include those by Geoffried von Strassburg, a Middle High German poet in the late 1100s and Thomas of Britain, an Anglo-French writer from the earlier 1100s. Gottfried based his work on that of Thomas’s, who based his on an even earlier, now-lost source. There are many variations on the story, but it generally follows that Tristan, the bastard son of a knight and noblewoman, is taken in by his uncle, King Mark of Cornwall. Tristan is later kidnapped and lost for years until he wanders back home having learned many skills. He rises in his uncle’s ranks, doing heroic deeds, until he eventually is sent to kill Morholt, a knight of Ireland. Later, he returns to Ireland to slay a dragon to win the hand of the princess, Isolde, for his uncle’s sake, but it turns out that Morholt is her uncle and the brother of the Queen of Ireland. But all is forgiven, after the dragonslaying, and he returns to Cornwall with Isolde, but a mistake on the maid Brangane’s part leads to Tristan and Isolde drinking a love-potion made by Isolde’s mother designed for Mark. Tristan goes on a variety of other adventures, as Isolde cheats on her husband Mark with his nephew. Mark goes back and forth between suspecting Tristan of adultery and banishing him, usually with the help of nobles jealous of Tristan, and welcoming him back. Eventually, Tristan leaves permanently, and he marries another woman, also named Isolde, to forget his first love. After sustaining a wound from a poisoned spear, a series of misunderstandings leads to Tristan’s demise when Isolde is on the verge of healing him, and she joins him in death. This was originally a standalone body of legends, but versions were eventually integrated into the Arthurian canon, and Tristan became a Knight of the Round Table...but most of the details remain consistent. Richard Wagner later adapted the story into one of his operas.

Fisher Queen: 

Refers to the Fisher King, who appears in a later episode in the above-mentioned Perceval story as well as in separate tales. Generally, the King is old and has sustained some wound, either to the leg or groin, that cripples him, and his condition has led him to spend his days neglecting his dominion to fish, hence the name. His realm then reflects his damaged state, and he asks for knights who might find out how to heal him. In some versions, he is the guardian of the Holy Grail: in the Perceval story, some sort of Grail does appear in his castle, earlier than any other mention, but it is not associated with any of the other elements of the Holy Grail. Perceval watches silently as the following procession takes place at dinner: a young man carrying a bleeding lance, two young men carrying a candelabra, a young woman carrying a dish or cup (what will eventually be seen as the Holy Grail), and then a woman carrying a silver plate. It turns out that the cup would have healed the Fisher King, but he does not know it.

Lancela: 

A feminine version of the famous Lancelot, specifically from the previously-mentioned story by Chrétien, “ _ Lancelot, le Chevalier de la Charrette,” _ or “Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart.” One of the earliest Lancelot stories, it contains many elements that would later become essential to his tale—his adultery with Guinevere, his peerlessness in combat, his relationship to other knights—but it largely stands apart from the later incorporations into the Round Table stories. In it, Guinevere is kidnapped by a villain, Maleagant, and is rescued by Lancelot and Gawain. The title comes from the fact that early on, Lancelot is forced to ride in the back of a cart driven by a dwarf, which humiliates and humbles him and reduces his status in the eyes of everyone who sees it and hears about it. Lancelot is later captured, and goes on several other adventures, reclaiming his status along the way. Lancelot was originally a French character who, from a combination of factors, was integrated into the body of literature of King Arthur.

Gawaina: 

Feminine version of Ser Gawain. This particular referenced tale is that of “Ser Gawain and the Green Knight,” the most famous story associated with him. In it, on New Year’s celebration, a knight completely covered in green, with a green horse, green armor, green beard and green skin and a green axe, intrudes into the celebration and challenges any knight there to a game: to strike him with the axe good and true, but only if the striker will let the Green Knight return the blow in a year and a day at a place called the Green Chapel. No one steps up, so the Green Knight taunts King Arthur, and to save his monarch, Gawain, here Arthur’s nephew (as he often is), steps up. He cuts off the Green Knight’s head with one blow from the axe, but the headless man simply picks up his head and weapon and reminds Gawain of his promise before riding away. Gawain wastes most of the next year forgetting about it, but finally sets out to find the Green Knight. After numerous adventures (that are not described in detail, but glossed over), Gawain finds a lord, Bertilak de Hautdesert, who invites him to stay in his castle for three days and four nights, promising to show him the way to the Green Chapel afterwards. They also make a pact, that Bertilak will give Gawain whatever he gains during those three days if Gawain will do the same. Gawain agrees, and spends the day indoors while Bertilak hunts, catching, in succession, a deer, a boar, and a fox. Bertilak’s wife, Lady Bertilak, enters Gawain’s room and tries to seduce him, and the two talk back and forth, but he resists her. She kisses him once on the first day, twice on the second, and on the third day, three times...but she also gives him a girdle that she claims will prevent him from dying. Gawain and Lord Bertilak exchange the prey and the kisses each day, but on the third day, Gawain lies and does not give Bertilak the girdle. The next day, he finds the Green Knight, and with the girdle on, Gawain lets the axe approach his neck two times. On the third, his skin is nicked slightly, and he jumps away...but the Green Knight is revealed to be Lord Bertilak himself, who partook in a trick and a test using magic. Gawain failed to be totally honest, but in his failing, he will remember to be humble. Gawain returns to Camelot, with the useless girdle to remind him of his failure, and the court is changed for the better. To discuss its themes would take too long and the story itself employs an interesting alliteration and rhyme scheme that is too complicated to discuss in detail here, but every paragraph ends with a very short line and then a couplet.

Beawulf: 

Feminine version of Beowulf. The earliest known story in (Old) English, “Beowulf” has an odd place in literature, being associated with Germanic, Scandinavian, and Anglo-Saxon sources. The truth is more complicated, but all play a part in the story. It follows Beowulf, a Geat (from modern Götaland in Sweden) who travels to Denmark to help a king, Hrothgar, defend his newly-constructed mead hall, Heorot, from the monster Grendel. After ripping off Grendel’s arm, Beowulf is victorious, but Grendel’s mother comes to take revenge, so he must slay her too. He then returns to Geatland as king, but many years later an escaped slave steals a goblet from a dragon’s treasure hoard. The dragon goes on a rampage, and Beowulf slays him, but dies in the process, and one of his men becomes king of Geatland. The rhyming scheme was based on internal alliteration, which I am personally fond of. Many of the elements that we commonly associate with fantasy owe their origins fully or in part to “Beowulf,” such as dragons guarding hoards of treasure and magical weapons, especially those that allegorically demonstrate faith. Much of this is due to the influence of Tolkien, who was a scholar on the subject in his role as a researcher and professor (one of his most famous lectures is on Beowulf’s use of monsters, and it is well worth a read), and when he wrote “The Hobbit” and “The Lord of the Rings” he made sure to based significant portions of them on his own studies. You may notice that Smaug’s reaction to theft in “The Hobbit” is pretty much the same as the dragon’s here, or maybe Fafnir from the Norse mythological “Volsunga Saga.” 

“Troilas and Criseyde”: 

Troilas is a feminine version of Troilus, from Geoffrey Chaucer’s “Troilus and Criseyde.” It is set during the Trojan war, where Troilus is a defending Trojan and Criseyde is a woman in the city, daughter of the Greek seer Calchas who is helping the Greeks in the conflict. Troilus denigrates love, and so the god of love makes him fall head-over-heels with Criseyde as revenge. The rest of the story focuses on their efforts to come together, alternatively helped and hindered by Criseyde’s uncle Panderus (his name is the source for the word “pander,” particularly in the sexual sense). Eventually, Criseyde is traded to the Greeks at the request of Calchas for a prisoner of war, but promises Troilus that she will flee and return to him in ten days. The Greek warrior Diomede bonds with her, and she becomes his lover after realizing that she will not be able to return to Troy. Troilus realizes that she will not return, and he curses her even as he loves her still. Chaucer then apologizes for possibly besmirching women and recounts how Troilus died and went to heaven, then dedicates his poem to other Medieval authors. Chaucer goes to great lengths to emphasize the difficulty of Criseyde’s position, and the potential she already had for unhappiness with Troilus.


End file.
